“Better get up there and start some trouble…” she said to herself.
She jumped onto the coverstone looking at the thin strand of daylight filtering down from above. How to escape? She did not want to return the way she had come. She looked at her feet cursing in frustration. The curse left her lips, her words hanging in the air, a slight echo filled the chamber. Her curse resounded off the walls and returned to her. The chamber grew lighter and she saw markings glowing on the walls. They became clearer and the room brightened.
Runes!
She had cursed in the presence of sacred runes, she had broken every rule she had been taught since childhood. How many times had she been told never to blaspheme in the presence of runes or on sacred ground? She had just done both in a moment of frustration.
She had seen runes twice before. Once, in the Temple of Lael on a visit to Dej as a child, runes were brought from the priestess’s sanctum for the king’s coronation. The second time was briefly as a young woman, when she witnessed a mage standing against the Simulacrum on the battlefield at Sive. Many men and women had died that day, but the mage, with his rune shield and sword had torn a hole in the heart of the enemy. Defeat turned to victory. The enemy was routed. Imperial forces lived to fight another day.
Her eyes searched the chamber, its walls were covered in runes, glowing in soft greens and blues. She heard her curse reverberate like a winged demon, flapping in the air. She covered her eyes and used her other arm to protect her head. She opened her mouth and screamed.
“Stop! Let me out of here you devils, I am not beholden to you. I answer only to Her, only to the Mother, only to the Erthe.”
Tears streamed down Raine’s face, she was lightheaded, on the verge of collapse. She felt weightless and realised she was moving. She looked out through her fingers and saw a blur of green and blue reach out from the walls, it carried her up towards the cleft in the ceiling.
She felt the tug of roots, soil, then grass on her skin, then the soft touch of rain on her face. She burst out of the ground and fell to the earth on the top of Si an Bhru. She rolled downhill a short distance coming to rest face down in the heather.
She was free, reborn, released by the ancient barrow. She had a job to finish, an enemy to defeat. She had to catch up with the ghost army. The Erthe was not indifferent, not cold.
The Erthe was warm, caring. The Erthe wanted her to live.
But first she had to find her song to unleash the Twist.
Raine pulled herself up and stood, rain streamed down her hair and face. She turned looking to the east, the direction she had seen the shade army take the night before. They would have a night’s march on her but she felt invigorated. She walked down the hill and found its steepness forced her to run towards the bottom.
Her legs felt strong, the wind pulled at her hair, water trickled down her back. She decided to keep running and was surprised to feel her body responding, her muscles eager, her lungs hungry for air. She threw herself into the chase screaming with delight. She was no longer the hunted.
She was the hunter.
Raine ran east. She ran across endless grassland, she did not tire, she did not hesitate. She ran through the night, the rain stopped, stars glittered with a brittle intensity, her heart shone and she continued through the wetlands. Morning came reluctantly, its light fighting the dense marshland mist. Finally, she escaped the mist and ran up a low hill.
In the distance she saw the Imperial City of Arta, surrounded by a massed army, at its head, she knew was the war demon, Morrigan.
She had found her quarry.
She saw Morrigan raise her hand releasing what looked like dust into the air, the wind took the dust from her palm and whipped it towards the city walls.
She had found Morrigan, but where was Ashtoreth? Morrigan was a serious threat, but Ashtoreth was the one she needed to deal with. As she stared at the unfolding scene, dread filled her. She looked south towards the horizon, towards the capital, Dej. Towards Simulacrum territory. Something important was happening there too, something more important than this.
She had been blind.
Pain lanced Raine’s chest as Ashtoreth penetrated the ground at the Parly Fields a hundred leagues to the north. A crippling wave of fear swept up her legs from the ground. Raine knew Ashtoreth had used dark magic to penetrate the Erthe. Ashtoreth was attacking the Erthe.
Raine felt alarm spreading through the land’s living things. Trees sensed the Erthe’s distress in their roots, birds took to the air, snow-capped mountains trembled in the frozen north.
She knew the Erthe was fighting back. Time was against her.
She had to reach Ashtoreth before it was too late.
Chapter 22
Kindred
Syrah groaned.
Grace put a hand around her mouth and whispered. “Quiet Syrah, you’re safe. It’s Grace, be quiet, enemies are close.”
Syrah struggled then settled once Grace loosened her grip.
Syrah breathed heavily, she was clammy and shivering. Shock, thought Grace, perhaps she’d been hit on the head, concussion?
Grace listened to the voices in the king’s chamber. No one had tried to open the hidden door. Grace offered up a prayer to Falinor to keep them undiscovered. The guards’ voices rumbled on. Grace thought furiously, she could either wait for them to leave then take a chance, going back the way she had come, a high risk option at the best… or she could see where the passage went. It would be treacherous without light and with Syrah the way she was.
But it was the less risky option.
“Syrah, we’ve got to get out of here. You need to keep quiet and follow me, you’re injured and may not be thinking clearly. Just remember it’s me, Grace, I’ll get you out of here. Trust me and be quiet. Put your arms around my waist.”
Grace put Syrah’s hands on her hips and was surprised to feel Syrah holding on tight. Good, now concentrate, feel with your hands and feet, these steps will be treacherous.
She turned and touched the curved walls on either side, she took the first step. She was astonished to see the step glow under her foot. Her heart quickened, whoever designed this escape was thorough. The king had many enemies, it made sense to have this precaution, no expense had been spared.
Grace continued one step at a time, Syrah clung to her waist like a child. They made steady progress, the steps were uneven in places but the ghostly light triggered by their feet kept true. The steps behind them darkened once they had passed. Grace felt she was walking in a bubble of golden light, she held her breath for fear the light might fail. Her shoulders were tense and her head ached but she carried on.
They kept going until finally the steps stopped. They reached a dead end, a solid wall faced them. Grace felt despair, she had to find a way out. She felt the wall searching for a handle, a switch. She found nothing, she tried again, nothing. There had to be a way.
Be calm, think.
Syrah let go of Grace’s hips and sat down in the dark on the last step. Its golden light suffused the gloom in eerie silence. Grace turned to Syrah, she did not look good. She turned her attention back to the wall, this time with the benefit of the light.
Her eyes searched the wall, each stone, one after the other, looking for a pattern. She knelt on hands and knees and examined the floor feeling for a clue. Without warning Syrah jumped up and threw herself at the wall. Grace looked on stunned, as Syrah disappeared. The step’s golden light faded.
Magic.
It had to be. A magic door, something to do with the step, the light perhaps. Grace wasted no time, she perched herself on the last step exactly as Syrah had done. Bathed in its golden light she launched herself at the wall. She imagined knocking herself out, but instead felt a brief shiver as she passed through the wall. She landed on damp grass in near darkness.
Breathing heavily she lay there waiting for her heart to slow. She reached out, searching for Syrah. Nothing. She heard a groan to her left, movement. She made out a form,
prone.
Syrah?
If she could keep her safe, they might escape, find a healer. Then, if Syrah survived, maybe she could persuade the Sisterhood to reconsider, they would forgive her, take her back with open arms. Grace snapped out of her dream.
Her hand brushed against a booted foot in the near dark, she crawled closer and found a dead body, not Syrah but one of the king’s guards, her hand came away slick with blood. So, Syrah had been this way, she was out there on her own. There was nothing Grace could do, she decided to make good her own escape.
She listened hard and heard barking in the distance, men shouting. It was only a matter of time before she was discovered. She searched the guard and took his cloak, at least she would look like one of them from a distance. She put the cloak on and broke cover heading across the gardens. Men with burning torches were gathering near the wall. She thought quickly, the other escape route would be through the graveyard district. She shuddered, that danger was worse than this. She made her decision and slunk into the darkness heading away from the torches.
She moved slowly to avoid injury, the gardens were noted for their rare plant species. The grounds were formal in some aspects, with geometrically arranged beds and water courses. Some of the plants glowed faintly helping her progress, trees and bushes provided cover as she made her way to the opposite wall. She came to a large hedge which barred her way. She followed it for some time before realising it was part of a maze which was keeping her from the wall. She could go along the hedge but that would take her towards the torches, now moving through the garden towards her.
She had no choice, she had to enter the maze. There was no obvious entrance so she lowered herself to the ground and started crawling through the hedge. Her cloak snagged becoming stuck, she pulled and heard ripping. Thorns… she cursed, this was not going to be easy.
Grace wormed her way through the hedge keeping her head down, she abandoned the cloak and continued on. Finally she was through. Her head cleared the hedge, she felt open space ahead and pulled herself out and up finding herself on a path.
She heard dogs and men the other side of the hedge, they had discovered the body, they were close. She had to find a way out, to the wall. She walked along the path, a breeze picked up and the hedge rustled restlessly. The cloud cover above relented, weak moonlight spilled over the garden illuminating her way. Grace ran, she followed the path, it took her deeper into the maze. She came to a clearing with four subsidiary paths, in the distance lay the western wall, the cemetery beyond.
She darted across the clearing and made it to her chosen path, a few spots of rain fell on her cheek, the rustling behind intensified, she turned. The path she had been on had vanished, replaced by an expanse of hedge. She heard a noise and turned in time to see thorny foliage moving across her path. Without thinking she launched herself at the closing gap. She flew through the air, the hedge engulfed her, thorns raking her right leg, something tried to grab her ankle.
Her momentum carried her through and she landed heavily on the path, pain exploding in her left shoulder, she groaned.
“What took you so long?” Syrah’s voice came from up ahead.
Grace forced herself to focus despite the pain, she looked up. Syrah stepped out of the shadows reaching down to give her a hand.
“Not been an easy job this one,” Syrah commented.
“It’s not every day you get to kill a king,” Grace replied.
Grace felt her shoulder and moved it carefully, nothing broken but she’d have an impressive bruise.
“Come on, let’s go. I know a way out,” Syrah whispered.
Just then they heard a high pitched sound followed by two thumps. They looked up to see flames taking hold in the upper reaches of the hedge.
“Fire arrows! They’re trying to flush us out, hurry!” Syrah said. She turned and ran.
Grace followed, Syrah had the Sisterhood’s knowledge at her disposal. She would know about this maze and its magical effects. Someone at the Mage School would have designed and enchanted it. The Sisterhood were perhaps the only other organisation that would have access to such information. Even though she was no longer a member, a sense of pride welled in her chest. She had saved Syrah, now Syrah was saving her. Bless the Lord, Falinor.
Syrah kept the pace up, they threaded their way through endless twists and turns, chased by leaping flames. A strange keening came from deep within the maze as if the hedge was in pain. Grace knew the flame that spilled from the fire arrows would be enchanted to burn anything in its path, its green tinge a giveaway.
Syrah stopped, they had reached a dead end. The cemetery wall just beyond reach, the maze had defeated them. Everywhere Grace looked she saw an impenetrable wall of thorns. Their path was thick with smoke, their eyes streaming, their lungs burning. Grace watched Syrah in between bouts of coughing, as her old friend took control. Syrah lay down and crawled under the hedge. Flames raced through the foliage above, smoke was everywhere.
Grace followed, copying Syrah’s every move. She recalled exercises they had done during training for the Sisterhood many years before. She felt the same connection, the same sense of clarity she had experienced then. They reached the cemetery wall and started climbing.
She could not believe it, they were making progress.
With an undignified grunt Syrah thrust herself up and over the top of the wall, she disappeared. Grace looked around, tendrils of smoke rose like snakes weaving through the hedge… she had seconds. She took a breath and hauled herself up, handholds were few, but she found them. She thought of her mother and father, her brother and sister, she forgave herself the sins of the past and threw herself over the wall. She fell.
A soft impact.
Grace sank down into the compost. Decayed leaves, sticks and weeds covered her. The smell of earth, then movement, she opened her eyes, a rat’s tail brushed her face, its feet scrabbling in her hair. The leaves were brushed aside, Syrah stared down, grinning.
“Just like old times, eh?”
Grace grunted. “Aye, how did you know this was here?” she sat up picking leaves from her hair.
Syrah stuck out her hand, “I saw this on the way in, let’s get out of here, we’re beyond the king’s guards, but there are worse things here and it doesn’t take long for them to stir.”
Grace took Syrah’s hand and pulled herself free from the decaying foliage. “Where will we go? I’ve got to report to my patron. You’ll be returning to the Sisterhood?”
Syrah looked at Grace. “Grace of the Light, we are Kindred. I will ask the Sisterhood to take you back. You can settle affairs with your patron once you have made your peace with the Seeker.”
Grace felt it, an opening within, she had kept it shut all these days. She allowed the hope in, feeling its warmth. Falinor worked in strange ways. She nodded at Syrah allowing herself to be led through the cemetery and the city streets beyond, each step taking her back to her old life.
Back to her Kindred.
Back to the Sisterhood.
Back home.
Chapter 23
Tainted City
Tuath followed the corridor.
He’d heard of this place, even seen it once before, from a distance. Blackmount Friary, said to predate the city itself, inhabited by an ancient order of monks intent on a life of prayer and contemplation… and mead. He smiled. A perfect base for Bright Feather’s operations. Aelisa, her servant, had told him to come here on his return to the Imperial Capital. He would see what would come of it, his arrival was known, he knew he was being watched.
He felt uneasy and stopped to look over his shoulder, there it was again that feeling, the shadow that followed him. Except it was not his shadow but the shadow within, Drath the demon, making its presence known. Drath, who had a stranglehold on his life.
Is there a way out of this forfeit?
A door opened ahead, warm light spilled from within, a woman’s silhouette outlined.
“Tuath, you’ve returned�
�� I see you have company.” Bright Feather’s voice was brittle, edgy. “I trust you bring good news?”
Tuath stopped and looked at Bright Feather, he’d forgotten how striking she was. Like a queen of old, he wondered if royal blood coursed through her veins. He took a step towards her.
“Yes, my Lady. I made it to the Simulacrum Lords. This is Ramin, one of their rangers come to vouch for their words.”
Bright Feather nodded. “You’d better come in, you look…. different, Tuath. You carry a burden, I can tell.”
Tuath looked down and held his breath.
How does she know? How can she see?
Bright Feather took them to her room. She gestured for them to sit beside the fire. She left the room for a few minutes and returned with two goblets and a flagon of wine.
“Here, drink. You must be thirsty from the road. Drink, tell all. Food and warm beds are waiting for you after this.”
Tuath accepted the wine and took a large mouthful. It was strong, it sank to his stomach and started its work. His muscles responded, his aches began to recede. He needed to get his story out before his mind clouded. He started at the beginning, recounting everything. He found himself telling Bright Feather about Drath and the deal he’d been forced to make. Her eyes widened but she said nothing, he continued, finishing his story in a rush.
When he was done silence descended. The fire seemed subdued. Bright Feather closed her eyes. Tuath took another long draught of wine, he felt unburdened, he’d done his part, his role was over. It had come to this, his job done, his life ransomed.
He glanced at Ramin, her eyes were lost in the fire. He wondered what she was thinking of… home perhaps? He looked at Bright Feather, he wasn’t sure, he thought her lips were moving, her breath came in whispers, her closed eyes were moving. He felt dead tired, the weeks of travel and deprivation catching up with him. He looked over his shoulder towards the back of the room to see if there was a place to lie down.
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